


The Guest

by Mack



Category: Call the Midwife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack/pseuds/Mack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe he could stay here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

It all happened so fast. Once the verdict was reached that Nonnatus House would come to the aid of the South African Hope Mission Clinic, preparations were made, research was done, equipment purchased; everything sorted in a flurry, as if the whole thing was a dream, and pausing for a moment’s contemplation would bring the whole illusion tumbling down.

It was one night a few short weeks after that initial announcement that the group of people that tended to gravitate around Nonnatus House- its religious and nursing residents, Reverend Hereward, the Buckles and the Turners- were sat around the convent’s dining table as part of a family dinner-cum-strategy session.

“I think my father’s more excited than I am!” exclaimed Barbara. “He’s sent more letters in the past month than in the rest of the past year, I think.”

“Oh, that reminds me” remarked Shelagh. “I’ve yet to write to Granny Parker to ask her to come down.”

This caused Timothy, previously engaged in picking the glaze off his cheesecake, to prick up his ears. “What’s Granny Parker need to come for?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well to look after you, of course.” replied Shelagh. 

“But Mum!” protested the teenager, “aren’t I coming with you?”

“You’ve got school, Tim.” said Patrick. “And besides, it’ll be dangerous for visitors there.”

“You’re taking Angela!”

“Angela will be with us every minute. I don’t suppose you want to spend the whole trip chained to your mother?”

“No, but-”

“Look, Timothy” said his father, “this isn’t up for debate. You’re staying in London.” An awkward silence had fallen upon the table at witnessing the exchange between parent and child.

“But do I have to stay with Granny? She smells funny, and she’s always treating me like a child! She doesn’t even like Mum, which she’s always complaining about-”

“Enough, Timothy.” snapped Patrick.

“Perhaps we can discuss this another time...” said Shelagh. Timothy knew enough to know his stepmother didn’t intend to “discuss” anything- she was firmly on his father’s side, but wanted to save face in front of their friends.

“I’m fifteen, I’m old enough...” he trailed off, knowing that was a battle he couldn’t win. “I could stay with Anthony.” he suggested, switching tactics.

Patrick shook his head. “No way. That household isn’t fit for the Blakes’ own children, let alone you.”

Maybe it was the fact that this scene was reminding her of a different meal at Nonnatus with her own mother. Maybe it was the liberal helpings of red wine. Whatever the reason, it was at this point that Delia spoke up.

“Maybe he could stay here.”

The Turners stared at the nurse, having been uninterrupted throughout their debate. Timothy immediately latched onto the suggestion.

“Yes! I could! I mean, not everyone’s going! Like Ake- I mean Nurse Mount, and Sister Moni...Sister Mary Cynthia and Nurse Busby, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know...The nurses are so busy; it’s not fair to ask them to take care of you.”said Shelagh. 

“Oh, we’d be perfectly happy to have Timothy with us. He wouldn’t be trouble at all.” said Patsy, throwing her hat in the ring to support Delia. “That is,” she hastily added, “if it’s all right with you, Mrs. and Dr. Turner. And with Sister Julienne.

“I can think of no reason to object.” said Sister Julienne.

“It’s not a bad idea, Shelagh.” said Patrick. “We’re only a short walk from our house, and Irma is getting on in years.”

Gradually, everyone else at the table agreed that Nonnatus House would be an ideal temporary home for Timothy, until only Shelagh was left. “Well- since you are rather keen, and your father seems to think you can handle it.” 

After that night, both Delia and Sister Julienne independently sought out the Turners to ensure that the proposal really was okay with them. Secretly, Delia didn’t think they ought to have such a final word when everyone else supported the plan- she knew what it was like for one’s mother to hold one back, but she knew the importance of healthy work relationships. But after being reassured by Shelagh and Patrick that they were agreed, the plan was set.

 

“You remembered your toothbrush, right? And your uniforms and games kit- oh, and cricket whites!” fretted Shelagh. She was hauling multiple large suitcases out of the family car in front of Nonnatus House. 

“Mum, really! cried an embarrassed Timothy. “You’re going to Africa and you haven’t worried nearly as much about your own luggage! And I don’t need to remember everything, the house is only two blocks away!” This prompted Shelagh to ask for the fifth time if Timothy had his house key.

Delia watched the scene from the porch with a smile. All around her, the house was up in chaos with last-minute preparations. The decrepit parish bus sat on the street, gradually being filled with cases of clothing and medical equipment. Delia had tried to lend a helping hand, but after the third polite declining of her aid, had resigned herself to sipping her tea and waiting to be asked for help. 

In her office, Sister Julienne was emulating Shelagh’s behaviour with Patsy and Sister Mary Cynthia.

“Nurse Noakes should be here at 4...Did I give you the list of telephone numbers? Do you have enough copies? I recommend keeping it by the telephone- but of course you will have realized that. And remember to be firm to anyone who calls about secondment- they’ll try to play your guilt but you’ve a perfectly valid reason for why you cannot spare any nurses. The same applies if the vicar comes around to conscript volunteers, Sister. You’re sure you will be well at Compline with only you and Sister Monica Joan?”

“Perfectly so, Sister Julienne.” replied Sister Mary Cynthia.

“I cannot fathom how we should be, when our Sisters in Christ are raising their voices entirely incongruously with our own!” bemoaned Sister Monica Joan as she walked past, likely heading for the kitchen where the leftover slices of cake from the “Bon Voyage” party resided. 

Sister Julienne sighed. “I fear Sister Monica Joan is still troubled by the time difference between London and Johannesburg.” she said. 

“I think she’s also upset at not being invited.” said Sister Mary Cynthia. “Another reminder of her age.”

“Are you certain you’ll be alright if she- well, has an incident?” asked Sister Julienne.

“We’ve got the numbers for Hope Mission, the Mother House, and every doctor and psychiatrist in England, Sister.” said Patsy. “Not to mention the television repairman and bakery. And I’d like to think she’s fond enough of us. We’ll be quite alright. There’s nothing she can do that we’re not prepared for.”

“If I had sixpence for every time I’d thought that...” mumbled Sister Julienne. “Still” she said more brightly “I’m quite certain I’m worried about nothing. It’s simply that this is an unprecedented event for Nonnatus House. Never in our history have there been more than four staff members absent at once, or for so long.”

“I know, Sister.” said the smaller nun. “And your concerns are entirely reasonable. But we can handle ourselves, can’t we Nurse Mount?”

“Absolutely.” Patsy affirmed.

Sister Julienne smiled. “I do know that well. I cannot think of two nurses I trust more to run Nonnatus in my absence.” she said. She looked at the wall clock. “Oh my. I really hope we are ready to depart.”

She led Sister Mary Cynthia and Patsy down the corridor to the front entrance. The preparations were finally winding down. Tom and Fred were attempting to manoeuvre a rather large valise, which Patsy recognized as Trixie’s, up the narrow bus steps. Shelagh appeared to finally be content that Timothy had all his essentials, and Patrick was trying to corral Angela.

Sister Julienne turned to the two nurses. “I suppose there’s no more delaying it.” she said. She unclipped the ring of keys from the waist of her habit and handed it to Sister Mary Cynthia. “Treat her well.” she said. Patsy stifled a grin a the nun’s nautical personification of the old building. 

Tom at last succeeded in getting the trunk through the door, knocking Fred into the driver’s seat in the process and causing the rotund man’s elbow to hit the bus’s horn. Patrick had wrestled Angela into the car. The travellers took turns hugging and saying their goodbyes to those staying behind. “You’ll write with any steamy jungle romances, won’t you?” said Delia to Barbara and Trixie. The nuns promised prayers for each other. Sister Monica Joan quoted Livingstone in between mouthfuls of cake. Shelagh, Angela and even Patrick showered Timothy with hugs and kisses. Nurse Crane huffed impatiently. Finally, all were loaded into car and bus, and with limbs sticking out windows waving goodbyes, only the five were left.

“Now then, Tim” said Delia, “let’s get you settled, eh?” The boy and women each took a piece of luggage (Sister Monica Joan’s burden was a single extra sweater Shelagh had thrown out of the car at the last minute) and trundled up the stairs. “You’ve got your pick” Delia told Timothy. “The nuns’ rooms- cells, I guess,- are rather austere, but you might like that. Us lay nurses might have left too many personal touches behind.”

“Who’s room’s that?” Timothy asked, pointing to a door at the far end of the hallway. 

“That’s mine.”

“Oh, so it’s not for grabs then.”

Delia paused. “Actually, I thought it might be fun to bunk with Patsy for the time being.” she said. “It does get rather lonely in there alone. Plus it’s cold. And I’ll always be running in to grab my things, so you won’t want to sleep there.” Timothy didn’t miss the way she studied the wallpaper while saying this, or the fact that she had quickly steered the conversation away from her own sleeping arrangements.

Timothy settled on Sister Julienne’s room- it was true, he didn’t fancy sleeping surrounded by Nurse Crane and Nurse Gilbert’s personal hallmarks, and Sister Winifred’s cell was adjacent to the bathroom, which Timothy figured could lead to long nights and awkward mornings. He opened his first suitcase and started to put the crumpled clothes in the dresser drawers. This was one of the suitcases he had hurriedly packed himself- Mum always neatly folded his things. He picked up the last shirt in the case. There it was, underneath- he’d forgotten it was there. The photograph of him, his parents and Angela that Dad had taken with the self-timer. He’d swiped it from the mantle that morning and secretly wedged it under his clothes, knowing he’d die of embarrassment if his parents knew he’d taken it. 

He sighed and looked around the spartan room. So this was home for the next four months. He picked up the framed photograph and placed it on the dresser. If that window got enough light from the streetlamps, he’d be able to see it from his pillow at night.

Timothy headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Nurse Mount was making tea while Nurse Busby and Sister Mary Cynthia assisted in finishing the cake at the table. Sister Monica Joan and her second piece were hunched in front of the television.

“You’re just in time to grab the last of it, Timothy.” said Nurse Mount as she placed a steaming cup and saucer on the table and beckoned him to sit. 

“If you don’t want it, Akela.” he said. The redhead rolled her eyes. “Tim, you’ve been out of cubs for two years now, you don’t have to call me that. In fact, please don’t.” she said. “Call me Patsy.”

“And I’m Delia.” added Nurse Busby. “If we’re to be living together, we can’t stay on such formal terms.”

“Alright” he said, and dug in to his cake.

“I still can’t believe it’s just us running Nonnatus for four months!” Delia exclaimed. She looked a little overwhelmed. “Don’t worry” said Sister Mary Cynthia, “Sister Julienne won’t recognize the place when she gets back.”

“I choose to interpret that positively.” muttered Patsy into her cup.


	2. Pepper Pepper Pepper Salt

Timothy stared at the words on the page. Even doddering old Mr. Huddersfield wouldn’t swallow this tripe. He hated English. He’d hated it since beginning grammar school; since it stopped being about grammar and spelling and started being about pretending the author gave a toss about symbolism. He’d been trying to fortify the shaky foundations of his essay for hours now, with little success. Timothy dropped his head to the paper and moaned. No, wait- that wasn’t a moan. It was his stomach. A snack break, that would refresh his mind. Mrs. B ought to have something made in the kitchen of which Sister Monica Joan had yet to polish off.

He headed downstairs. As he entered the kitchen, he was dimly aware that something was- not quite right. He inhaled, and it struck him. No smell. He should have been indulging the aromas of whatever delicious concoction Mrs. B was cooking, along with lingering smells of the afternoon’s sweet treats. But all he could smell was the nauseating combination of cigarette smoke and bleach.

“Do you know what’s happening with dinner?” he said to Patsy at the table. She froze. “Good Lord. It’s Tuesday.”

“Huh?”

“Tuesday. Mrs. B’s day off.”

“Oh.” said Timothy. “So do you know what’s happening with dinner?”

“One of us cou- oh dear.”

“What?”

“Chummy took the afternoon off for Freddie’s birthday, and Delia and Sister Mary Cynthia have been on a delivery since this morning. And if Mrs. MacNeal’s history is any indication we can’t expect them back for another couple hours at least.”

“What about Sister Monica Joan?”

Patsy quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re right. Stupid question. Plus I think I heard her say she was going upstairs to pray about an hour ago.”

“In that case she’ll be sound asleep and most unhelpful if we wake her to help us.” Patsy sighed. “I suppose I’ll call the chip shop.”

Timothy’s heart sank. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Can’t you make something?”

“I-well- I’ve got more important things to do.”

Timothy looked at her smoking ashtray and magazine on the table. “I can see that.”

She scowled. “If I get called out while cooking I’ll burn the place down. And it will be a nice treat for the others. To commemorate our first, um, Tuesday since the others left.”

“You don’t know how to cook, do you?” asked Timothy.

“Well, if you must know, no, not really. I’ve never had to cook before. Do you know how to cook?” she shot at him.

“Of course not. I’m fifteen!”

“Most girls are capable cooks at fifteen.” Patsy pointed out.

“But not you?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Timothy decided it would be wise to take a few steps backwards. “Tell you what” Patsy said. “I’ll cook if you help me. And you have to take over if I get called out.”

Timothy sighed. “All right. But only to show you I could cook if I had to.”

And, he secretly thought, because the alternative was going back to his English.

 

“All right.” said Patsy, scanning the recipe shelf. “There’s got to be something we can make in here somewhere.” They decided a book labelled “Easy” would be a good place to start. “A stew looks doable.” said Timothy at one page. “I am quite good at boiling water” said Patsy. And with that declaration of expertise, the decision was made. 

“I must admit, I was surprised when you weren’t enthused about the prospect of a chip supper.” remarked Patsy as they chopped vegetables.

“I’m kind of sick of them. I used to have chip suppers practically every night. You know, after Mum.” Timothy said. He’d hated wolfing down those cold rubbery meals in the freezing car on the way to Cubs. That was, the nights when his dinner wasn’t requisitioned to give to crazy old ladies in exchange for blood samples.

“Your father works so hard now, I can’t imagine him having time to cook on top of everything.” Patsy remarked.

“Exactly. He usually ended up giving in to the lure of fish and chips.” said Timothy. “I was pretty harsh on him.” he added softly. “I wish I hadn’t been.”

Patsy paused her chopping. “You’d just lost your mother.” she said. “We can be harsh when we’re hurting and say things we don’t mean.”

“I guess it was hard.” he admitted. “Especially at first. I think I was mad that things had changed, and I took it out on him because he was there. But of course he was there. And then Sister Bernadette- Mum, she helped too. She went through the same thing.”

“Good.” said a faintly smiling Patsy. “It’s important to have someone there for you.” She resumed chopping vigorously. 

Timothy suddenly felt very awkward. “Did you lose someone?” he asked her.

Patsy pursed her lips as if she was deciding whether to answer. “My mum, and my sister.” she whispered. “I must have been a couple of years older than you were?”

“Did you have someone there for you?”

“I do now.” she said briskly. “That’s what matters.” 

“You mean Delia?”

“Delia and others.” she replied briskly. “Now, get back to work. Just three more cuts of meat and we can move on to the celery.”

 

“It doesn’t really look like the picture in the book.” said Timothy. “No, it doesn’t.” agreed Patsy. The two stared at the cooking pot. “Are you going to try it?” asked Timothy. “You go first.” she responded. Timothy didn’t argue. He slowly took a spoon and dipped in in the mixture. It let out a wet gloop when pulled out. He closed his eyes and held his nose and put the very tip of the spoon to his lips.

“Well?” asked Patsy.

“It’s bad.” was all Timothy could say.

“Really bad?”

“Really bad. Really, really bad.”

“Alright then.” said Patsy while Timothy stuck his mouth under the tap, “what do we do now?”

“Well we can’t serve it!” he said. 

“I know,” said Patsy, “but it just seems like such a waste!”

“You sound like my mum. Or my granny.”

“I just don’t like to waste food, that’s all.” said Patsy softly. After a few seconds of thought, she drew a clean spoon from the drawer and tentatively scooped up some of the muck. She sucked it into her mouth. She sloshed her cheeks around with a thoughtful look on her face. She closed her eyes as if blink back tears. Timothy waited. Finally, she swallowed in one quick gulp. “I suppose we can afford to waste this.” she declared.

Timothy wondered briefly if they might feed the “soup” to the pigs at the butcher’s, but Patsy dismissed that by saying that Mr. Price needed to know what was going into his animals and she was not about to explain to him how exactly they came by the slop they intended to donate. Tim figured there was no guarantee of the pigs actually eating it anyway. Patsy contemplated out loud pouring it on the garden like so many Poplar men did with their wives’ afterbirths, but Timothy said that the soil was unlikely to mask the smell from the other residents of Nonnatus House. They ended up shaking the soup into a bin bag, which they wrapped in two more bags and dropped in the outdoor bin. After five minutes of furious scrubbing at the sink, they dropped the pot in with the resolve to purchase a new one tomorrow. 

“Timothy.”

“Yes?”

“We are never telling anyone about this.”

“I know.”

 

Timothy burst through the door, his arms laden with bags. “What took you so long?” asked Patsy harshly. 

“You try getting anywhere fast while avoiding anyone you may know because you’re riding a woman’s bike.” he retorted.

Not two minutes later, Delia and Sister Mary Cynthia came in. “I recognize that smell!” exclaimed Delia, making a beeline for the dining room. “You’re just in time.” said Patsy cheerfully as she unloaded white boxes of fish and chips from their bags onto the table. “Just drop your equipment in the back, I’ll take care of it after supper. 

“Oh, bless you, Patsy.” said Sister Mary Cynthia. 

“I concur.” added Delia. “This really is lovely to come home to.” She smiled straight at Patsy while saying this. Timothy coughed. 

“Well, Timothy picked the food up.” Patsy admitted. He coughed again. “And...he paid for it as I was out of cash.” she said, blushing. 

“Well, thank you both then.” said Sister Mary Cynthia. “Delia and I had finished twelve hours of labour when we realized it was Mrs. B’s day off. Thank the Lord you remembered!” 

“I detected the aroma of fried matter in my dreams!” came a voice from the stairway. “Yet now its presence continues to linger!”

“Welcome back, Sister Monica Joan.” said Sister Mary Cynthia. “Patsy and Timothy were kind enough to get fish and chips tonight. And I think,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “that you’ll be even more pleased when you see what else we have.” She held up a paper bag Timothy hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying, and drew out a scrumptious looking shortbread biscuit. Timothy could swear Sister Monica Joan’s eyes grew as big as cricket balls. 

“Mrs. MacNeal’s sister insisted we take a batch. She’d been baking all day to kill time waiting for the delivery.” said Delia as she went to fetch a plate on which to put their dessert. 

“All went well then?” asked Patsy.

“A little girl. Sally. In perfect health.” said a smiling Sister Mary Cynthia.

“Half as big as me already, though!” called Delia from the kitchen.

“Not that that’s saying much.” said Patsy, earning herself a playful glare from Delia.

“Enough! You must cease your ministrations and replenish in body and spirit!” said Sister Monica Joan. Clearly she was anxious to get started on the shortbread.

“I quite agree.” said Patsy, removing the last empty box from the table. “I’m sure we’re all positively famished.

They all sat down. “Bless us, Oh Lord, for these thy gifts we are about to receive.” said Sister Mary Cynthia. Some standards had slipped for now at Nonnatus, but its religious residents still insisted on grace before meals.

Timothy had to admit, the smell was intoxicating. And actually, as he sucked the grease off the batter, it was deliciously warm and greasy and salty. Maybe it had been long enough since he’d last had fish and chips.


End file.
